An Undead Rebellion (Sequel)

holy odium //

Arabelle's P.O.V.

Corey led us through the dark streets of Greywater, a crescent moon following us as we weaved along pathways of canals, the smell of saltwater cloying to the air. He kept a quick pace, never wavering in his direction. He obviously was well acquainted with the waterfront town.

I sobered up as we walked, my vampiric metabolism burning through the alcohol at a relatively swift rate. My limbs felt heavy with fatigue. I couldn't even recall the last time I had actually slept.

Eventually, Corey guided us up to the unlocked gates of a cemetery and we slipped inside, treading among the graves.

"Why are we in a cemetery?" I asked, breath fogging in the air slightly.

"The Rebellion have a hideout here." He responded, voice a low murmur.

"Vampires hiding out in a graveyard? How cliché."

"Well," he came to a stop at a weathered and grey mausoleum. "We are, after all, creatures of the night."

I watched as he walked up to the doors, which were bound in heavy chains, and bypassed them. He ran his palm along the ornate siding of the structure, until he found some sort of tiny latch or similar mechanism, and then the paneling of the mausoleum slid open, revealing a hidden entryway.

"Admittedly, that was kind of cool." I praised. "But why the hell are we going to a Rebellion hideout?"

"Just play along," Corey said, stepping into the old building.

"Play along with what?" I asked, following his silhouette.

"You're still being held hostage by the Rebellion, but things went a bit awry so I had to get you to the next nearest hideout." He paused midway into the dark, musty space and looked back at me. "Right?"

I glowered at him dimly. "That kind of seems like what's happening, so, yeah. Right."

"Such little trust," he chided, walking over to a black sarcophagus.

I nearly balked at his use of sarcasm. "Because you fucking lied tome the entire time I've known you."

"Most of it was lies, yes." Setting our supplies aside, he pushed the lid from the stone box, setting it down on the concrete floor.

"And yet you expect me to believe you now?"

"I don't really," he paused, brushing the black strands of hair that fell into his eyes. "But what purpose would I have to lie to you now? You already know I've been working with the Rebellion. You already know they want to overthrow the throne. What do I have to lie about anymore?"

"Did I ever even know you? I mean, was anything you said true?"

"No,you didn't know me. I put on an act for you. I was a constructcreated by the Rebellion. A ghost. The person you knew wasn't real. They don't exist."

"How lovely," I uttered, swallowing around a thick throat. I was beginning to slowly dismantle and destroy the idea of who he was in my head; of who I thought he had been. It was the only way to cope.

He moved over to a corner in the room, obtaining iron chains that were wrapped around a particular above ground coffin. He gestured me over and I knew what he intended to do.

I crossed my arms.

"Now you're just being difficult for the sake of it." He remarked, striding over to where I was standing.

He pulled my wrists behind my back without very much gentleness and I exhaled heavily as he bound them tightly with the chains.

"That hurts," I muttered.